Closeted

Kerry pushed the giant metal button embossed with a blue stick figure in a wheel chair. The double doors hissed, opening with a stilted gait, rattling lightly as they settled. She stepped through, taking a deep breath of the wet afternoon air after a heavy, fast-moving shower had passed through, washing the contours of the quad. Clean stone, mossy earth, soaked and drying bark, and the cinnamon scent of decomposing leaves wafted about in a swirling potpourri of petrichor-ladden mist. 

Kerry closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose, her lungs filling with cool, fresh air. At the end of her breath she felt a tickle and hitch in her respiration and brought a closed fist to cover her mouth, stifling a cough. She cleared her throat, shook her head, and patted the secret bulge in her pocket. The hospital campus was elaborate, sprawling and deserted. Ornate planters defined a curated grove of mature trees. Elms and willows, oaks and firs, redwoods and birch, all intertwined in a complex canopy, screening out the heavy sunlight, only dapples dripping through.

Kerry strolled slowly, glancing here and there in an attempt to both appear casual and make sure that she was alone. When she reached the outer perimeter of the quad she turned and stood for a long moment watching the entrances and exits of the hospital. Scrub-clad nurses and uniformed shiftworkers periodically came and went between long lulls of inactivity, a slow Monday for the usually busy hospital. When she finally felt satisfied that no one was making their way in her direction, she quietly tiptoed behind the thick trunk of a mighty elm, sat on the edge of a concrete planter and fished the pack of cigarettes from her sweater pocket. She flipped it open, first extracting a mini lighter and then a single cigarette. She put the cigarette in her lips and brought the lighter inside of a cupped hand to its tip. 

“Got an extra one of those?”

“Geezus,” Kerry jumped, instinctively hiding the cigarette and lighter in a closed fist as she swung around.

Smiling back at her was the gaunt face of a young man, his eyes dark and sunken, skin gray and ashen, pale, swollen lips cracked. He wore an oversized, green woolen cap—that she somehow knew covered a patchy, bald head—and hospital gown. His wheelchair was affixed with an iv tree. From it hung three bags of different sizes and hues and from them a complex series of tubes wrapped around the pole until they disappeared under his gown. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

She snorted a small chuckle and sloughed off the shock with a shake of her head, “No. No, it’s okay. Sorry,” then eyed him and his chair, wondering how he had snuck up on her so silently. She was an expert at sneaking away, had been doing it for the better part of two decades, and yet somehow this infirmed young man had blindsided her so completely. She gave him a final once over and chuckled again before relaxing.

“I’m Ben.” His right wheel let out a chirping squeak as he rolled closer to her.

She noticed the squeak, adding to the incredulity of this sick boy’s impossible stealth, and huffed through her nose.

Ben leaned forward, offering a hand, “Nice to meet you…” and stretch out his final vowel to allow her to fill in the blank 

She eyed his hand. It was as shriveled and gray as the rest of him. She shook it gently, not wanting to injure him, and smiled kindly. “Kerry.”

“...Kerry,” he echoed, and fell back into his seat with a sigh, as if the effort had taken a small toll on his constitution. “So, what do you say?” He eyed the end of the cigarette poking out from the closed hand in her lap.

She looked down at it remembering what she was holding, “I don’t know,” then up at him as she sucked in a breath wrinkled her nose and gave him a quick once over. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he grinned.

“You know, they say every one of these takes ten days off your life,” she warned him.

“Great, then I’ll have died yesterday.”

She stifled a chuckle at the macabre crack, eyed him again, wondering how literal he was being. Did he really only have nine more days to live? She wouldn’t be surprised if it was the truth. She sucked in a breath, considering.

“It’s not like I can get any sicker. Shit, maybe it’ll help turn me ‘round.”

“Doubt it.” She patted the pack in her pocket, knowing that she had already given in, and took a deep breath of defeat as she fished it out. She flipped the pack open and glanced over her shoulder half-expecting to find a stern orderly ready to scold her, instead finding the still-deserted quad. She plucked a smoke from the pack, and leveled a nervous gaze on him. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“My lips are sealed.” He pulled his thumb and pointer finger across his mouth miming a zipper, and for a little extra security, locked the corner of his mouth with an invisible key that he tossed away.

She shook her head and held it out to him.

He grunted as he leaned forward, took it from her and let out a sigh as he fell back. He popped it in his mouth and patted his chest where his breast pockets would be had he not been wearing a hospital gown. “Got a light?”

“That’ll cost you extra,” she teased. She leaned over and lit his cigarette, noticing how much his hand shook, then lit her own, taking a deep satisfying drag and blowing a big plume into the air above her, giving definition to tiny shafts of light like laser beams exposed by a cat burglar’s aerosol can. 

Ben let out his first drag with a wheezing, choking cough, and thumped himself on the chest as he held the cigarette out and looked at it. “That’s the stuff.”

“You’re not a smoker.”

“Busted. Always wanted to pick it up, though.”

Kerry laughed. “You’re not missing much.”

“Woah,” Ben held the side of his head. “I thought they weren’t supposed to get you high.”

“It wears off.” She squinted at him. “You really haven’t ever had one? Why’d you even want it?”

“I’m trying to check some things off my bucket list.”

“What do you got?”

“Cancer,” he said casually, taking another, more tentative drag.

“Oh, Jesus. I’m a monster. Give that back.” She swiped at him playfully.

“No, no, no.” He guarded it, letting out his second drag without coughing this time. “I’m starting to enjoy it.”

She frowned. “What have I done?”

“You’re helping a guy out. Now I know what it's like, and honestly this will probably be the only one I’ll ever get a chance to try.”

“What kind of cancer?”

“It’s a potpourri. The osteosarcoma seems to be in the lead today.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

He eyed her coolly as he took another drag, apparently a quick learner. “You look pretty healthy. Just visiting?”

Kerry nodded, flicking ashes. “Yep. My mom,“ she took another drag and let the smoke drift out of her mouth with her words, “lung cancer.”

Ben chuckled in surprise then covered his mouth with a fist as a bout of light coughs choked him up. “Sorry. Not funny.”

“Oh, I don’t know. If it’s not funny, it’s at least ironic.”

“Oh?”

“At least not fair. I’ve been smoking,” she held her cigarette up to prove it, “Since I was eleven-years-old—more than twenty years. I drink more than I should, eat what I want, barely workout, and I’m as healthy as an ox. My mom,” she threw a thumb over her shoulder toward the hospital, “on the other hand; eats healthy, has had all but half-a-dozen drinks in her whole life, and has never touched a cigarette, gets diagnosed with aggressive, inoperable lung cancer at sixty-three.” She flicked her cigarette, took a drag, and again let the smoke drift out lazily. “Seems unfair.”

“Hmm,” Ben nodded as he considered. “Does your dad smoke?”

Kerry scoffed smoke through her nose, “The Reverend? Lord, no.” She flashed him a scolding squint. “The scandal.”

He grimaced and raised a hand. “My bad.”

She grinned.

Ben held his cigarette up, considering it, took another drag and blew a plume high into the air. “Maybe she’s been hiding it? Closet smoking, or whatever.”

“Closet smoking? You mean, a closet smoker?” she teased.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “It’s my first day.”

“I think the odds are a million to one.”

“Heh, better than mine.”

They met each other’s gaze with wide eyes, before chuckling together. They smoked in silence for a while before Kerry stubbed out her cigarette on the edge of the planter and poked the butt into the soil with a single finger before brushing a little dirt over the hole. “Well, Ben. It's been nice meeting you.”

“You too, Kerry.” He held up his still unfinished cigarette. “Thanks for the smoke.”

She pushed to her feet and pointed at him. “Tell anyone and you’re a dead man.”

He laughed and held up both palms. “I promise. I promise.”

“I’ll be back next week. Think you’ll still be around?”

He cocked his head and shrugged. “Hard to say these days.”

“Fair enough.” She rocked from toe to heel and clapped her hands. “Whelp, see ya.”

He gave her a wave. “See ya.”

As she tucked her lighter back into the pack, after no more than a dozen steps, she turned back to him. “Hey, you want another one for the ro—”

She scanned the campus, craning her neck to see around the handful of trees that he could have possibly slipped behind in such a short time. He was gone.

Kerry’s mother was still sleeping when she returned to her fourth-floor room in the oncology department. The curtains were drawn, the room gloomy, the monitors beeping quietly amid the hush of pumps, fans, and distant rustling carts from the hall. Kerry dipped into the bathroom, washed her hands and her face for the second time—she’d stopped in the lobby lavatories before taking the elevator. She dried her face with the hem of her billowy blouse as she stepped back into the room. She tiptoed the short distance to the chair next to her mother’s bed and eased herself into it. The chair squeaked a farting report despite her best efforts. 

“Kerry?” Her mother turned her head almost imperceptibly and lifted a hand no more than an inch.

“Hey, mom. I’m here.” She reached over the railing and gently took her mother’s hand in her own, careful not to disturb her catheter. “How are you feeling?”

Her mother let out a long yet shallow breath. “Tired.”

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Kerry was in no rush to get out of there. Her mother’s illness was progressing exponentially and she had no idea how many visits they had left. She heard her mother’s breath deepen and just as she was about to let go of her hand and reach for the book she’d left on the bedside stand—a short story collection by Everett, filled with bizarre tales involving horses, that she was working through for the third time and still finding enthralling—her mother sucked in a tiny, sharp breath. 

“I really wish you’d quit.”

“Mom?” She’d heard her clearly but was struggling to put her words in context.  

“They’re so bad.”

“What, mom?” she squeezed her hand tighter, leaned in closer. “What’s bad?”

“The smoking.”

“No. I don’t—” She found herself unable to lie, and in that moment realized that she had never found the need to lie to her mother about her nasty habit. Her mother had always carried herself with an air of, not quite obliviousness, something more like intentional blitheness. And besides, Kerry had become an expert at hiding it. Almost no one in her life, save a handful of acquaintances, knew, or even suspected, that she was a smoker. 

“Just promise…” her mother swallowed. “...you’ll try.”

Kerry realized that her mother not only knew, but had always known. That she saw through the mouthwash and gum and perfume and contrived excuses for quick outings. And if she had always known, was it because she recognized the signs, recognized them, because she… Well, you get it.

Kerry squeezed her mother’s hand, took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. “Yeah, mom. I’ll try.”

“Thank you, darling.” And with that, her mother’s breathing deepened and she fell asleep.

It was nearly midnight by the time Kerry decided to head home. Her mother had woken a handful of times throughout the evening. They’d eaten dinner together, though neither of them ate much, and talked a few more times, though never broaching the subject of smoking again.

As Kerry passed the nurses station she pulled her sweater on, switching her overstuffed bag from one shoulder to the other as she did.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Bargen.”

“Oh.” Kerry looked up in surprise, pulling her sleeves straight and situating the strap of her bag in the crook of her neck. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

“No worries,” the nurse smiled warmly. “Is your mother sleeping? I was going to check on her soon.”

“She is. Thank you,” Kerry eyed the nurse’s name tag, “Denise.”

“Of course,” her tone, soft and subdued, matching the timbre of the slumbering ward. “See you tomorrow?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I’ll be back on Wednesday, though.”

“Oh, good. I know your mother really appreciates your visits.”

Kerry bobbed her head, not wanting to add that there were a few others that she’d probably rather enjoy a visit with, either of her older brothers for example, and instead just said, “Yeah.” As she turned to go she stopped mid-pivot. “Denise?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know Ben?”

“Ben?”

“Another patient in oncology.” she didn’t want to clarify by adding, You know, the one I was smoking with, out on the quad today.

“Oh, Ben.” She shook her head remorsefully. “Such a sweet boy. Did you have a chance to meet him?”

“I did. Just today. He really seemed like a good kid. I just wanted to give him a quick goodbye if his room was close.” Really, she wanted to tell him that he’d been right all along, able to spot something in ten minutes that she hadn’t seen in more than forty years.

Denise wrinkled her nose. “You must be mistaken. Not today. Maybe on your last visit?” 

“No, today.”

“Oh, must be a different Ben.”

“Wheelchair, green cap, potpourri of cancers?” Kerry grimaced as she let this last descriptor slip, realizing that it was probably a bit crass for the uninitiated.

“Well, yeah. That’s him. But…”

Kerry lifted her chin, prompting her to continue.

“Well… he passed away yesterday.”

Kerry huffed. “No, I—” she stopped mid-sentence, her mind flashing back to the end of her afternoon encounter and Ben’s mysterious departure. “I… no, right. Must be getting my days confused.”

Denise assessed her with a flash of concern knitted into her brow.

“Alright, well, thanks again.” Kerry gave her a quick wave and left.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Bargen” Denise watched her trundle off until she was half way down the hall, shrugged, and returned to her work.

The light of the fat moon poked tiny holes through the canopy, dotting the outskirts of the hospital quad in pale spots. Kerry tiptoed to the edge of the campus, to the cement planter where she had shared a cigarette with a young sick boy. She dug into the pocket of her sweater, fished out the pack of cigarettes and held it in both hands. She cleared her throat, feeling silly as she spoke.

“Um, I just wanted to say, uh… thanks, I guess. And let you know that you were right. She was…” she scoffed, “closet smoking.” She squeezed the pack. “Anyway, I figured it would be a waste if I just threw these things in the garbage, so, uh,” she set them on the edge of the concrete planter, “here, you can finish off the rest.” She gave a wave to the shadows. “Alright, then. See ya.” She turned and left and tried not to let her fast walk turn to a run when she heard the chirping squeak of the wheel chair wheel behind her.